


diminishing odds

by indefensibleselfindulgence



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, F/M, M/M, Multi, Thighs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:29:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/pseuds/indefensibleselfindulgence
Summary: “There, there, Archivist. We'll make it nice for you too.” Michael teases, and then presumably bends over to pat Jon's leg. “We always do.”
Relationships: Helen/Jonathan Sims, Helen/Michael/Jonathan Sims, Michael/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 38
Kudos: 220





	diminishing odds

**Author's Note:**

> everyone in the jondistortion server im in is writing vampire fic so what was i going to do? Not write vampire fic?

Jon's lungs burned. 

The topiary kept scratching at him, catching on his clothes as he ran through the maze. He really wasn't fit enough to agree to a bet like this so why did he- 

He hears something snap not too far behind him and he freezes. They're teasing him, he knows, he knows he's not in any real danger, not with them at least, probably, but some part in the back of his brain shrieks at him to run faster, still horrified of the two monsters chasing after him. So Jon bolts, system flooding with even more adrenaline. 

He remembers Helen (or was it Michael) telling him adrenaline made the blood bitter. Good. It's the least they deserve for all of his effort. 

He's completely and utterly lost, no idea if he actually made any progress towards the center of the maze or not. It's cold out here, at night. The fog rolled in half way through the chase and has made it's presence very known. He's soaked through his clothes from all of the running and if he doesn't end up catching something from the chill it would be a miracle. 

Maybe he'd get them sick too, if that was something they could still do. 

There's a shuffle of leaves in front of him, and Jon freezes again- if he backtracks a little bit there was a left turn not to far back that he could take- The sound gets louder, closer, so Jon pivots on a heel and crashes straight into Michael's chest. 

“God damn it-” He gasps out, still out of breath. 

“Is that anyway to greet a friend, Archivist?” Jon doesn't need to look to know he's smiling, he can hear it in his voice. 

“Aw.” Footsteps in the grass until Jon feels another body press up against him. “Here I was hoping you'd run head first into me.” 

“You're both insufferable.” He huffs, slumping down until he's on the grass between their legs, exhausted. “At least wait five minutes before gloating.” 

“I would hardly call it gloating.” Helen says, all smiles, as she sits down next to him, and brushes his wet hair off of his face. “We're just happy to see you Jon.” 

“Wait five minutes to be happy to see me then.” 

Michael laughs, still standing over the two of them, and Jon sighs, staring up at the full moon overhead. 

All of this is starting to feel too Gothic romance for his tastes. Making a bet with two vampires to see if he could get to the center of their maze under a full moon? The only thing missing is a billowing white gown soon to be stained red. He's just in a pair of trousers and a button down, thank god for that. 

Michael, the absolute monster, is in a tacky bright gown that is tight to his body, but is still somehow faster than Jon, which truly just seems so unfair. Helen, in her pair of sensible trousers, hadn't exactly caught up to him so. So. So what- he still lost. 

Helen pats his forehead, cold on his skin, and smiles at him when he bothers to look at her. 

“You did great.” Michael says. “You got so far.” 

“Pretty close, even.” Helen nods along. “Another three, four minutes maybe.” 

“That's even more insulting.” He curls on his side, pressing his face into Helen's leg. 

“There, there, Archivist. We'll make it nice for you too.” Michael teases, and then presumably bends over to pat Jon's leg. “We always do.” 

His face is on fire- more on fire- in an instant, and thank god he can hide his shame in black silk. Some night birds call loudly in the woods not to far from their manor. The mist sticks close to his skin and he's starting to feel the cold now. 

“Get on with it then.” He says, still clinging to Helen's side. 

“Right out here?” Michael's gotten closer, right by his side, long unnatural nails tracing along the shell of his ear. 

“That's quiet debauched, Jon.” Helen's nails now, tracing down his neck, and he can't help but shiver. 

“Anyone could be watching.” 

“And you're going to have to let go of me if you want me to participate.” 

“Those were the rules of the bet, Archivist. Both at once.” 

“I'm aware.” He doesn't mean to snap but they laugh when he does anyway. “Are you hungry or not?” 

“Always.” His belt is undone and thrown into the bushes somewhere and before he knows it his pants are off of his legs and he's sitting in front of the two of them, staring at him with big eyes and practically drooling. 

“Always.” The other echoes, and Jon somehow manages to lose track of who's mouth opened- Helen mouths along his ankle, and Jon is intimately aware of how sharp her fangs are along his skin. Michael runs his nails along Jon's knee, presses down a little too hard and the first bead of blood spills out. Now they both shudder bodily. 

It's a little dizzying, knowing he can do that to them with almost no effort on his part. 

“Spread your legs Jon.” 

He does. 

It's- 

It's a lot to deal with, he supposes is a polite way to put it. They're so different, and all he can focus on in the shine of their fangs in the moon light. 

They lavish his thighs with attention, running their hands along them and making him shiver with how cold they are before pressing their cheeks against the muscle there, noseing against the crook of his knee, and blinking up at Jon, clearly much too pleased with themselves.

God, this was a stupid bet. 

Michael reaches his left thigh first, kissing along the skin before sucking a hickey onto it and Jon has to fight the urge to swat at his head. He almost would, if it wasn't for the fact that Helen gets her teeth in him first. 

The gentle paralytic on her fangs warms him right back up, and worse still he can feel her tongue lapping at the bite, before she starts to draw the blood out in earnest. Her other hand curls around his leg, nails digging in, leaving pinpricks of pain above his knee. 

Michael sucks another hickey onto him, and the bruises are going to be there for a week at least. 

“Just bite me.” His voice is a little high- understandably he hopes considering Helen has gone back to licking. 

“Needy little Archivist aren't you?” Michael teases and before Jon can swat at him, Michael catches his arm by the wrist and brings it up to his hair. Jon grabs and pulls his hair, fingers dangling into the blond mess the way he knows Michael likes. He makes a pleased sound in his throat, one that, despite the absurdity of the situation, makes Jon smile. 

“Bite me.” He says and watches his grin split open wide, watches the way his fangs shine when they sink into his thigh- 

Jon gasps, hand tightening in Michael's hair. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes and Helen presses kisses to his thigh before pulling back, red dripping down her mouth and onto the front of her blouse. 

“He's always been such a brute hasn't he?” 

“You're no better.” She laughs and closes the distance between them, kissing him. Her mouth is warm with him, his own taste on his tongue. 

“You're right.” She's practically purring. “I'm really not.” 

She kisses him again, claws digging into the back of his head, teeth dragging along his lip. 

Michael groans when Jon tugs at his hair again, leaving his thigh to get close to his face, red staining his gown now too. Jon isn't envious of who they get to do their laundry for them. When Helen doesn't move away, dragging kisses from Jon until he has to pull his head to gasp for air, Michael decides to start leaving hickeys on his neck too. 

Those are going to be much harder to hide. 

“I want to kisses our Archivist too.” He whines, like a petulant child and Helen scoffs, can't help it probably. 

“Come then.” Helen says, and pulls Michael forward by his dress. “Kiss our archivist.” 

Michael kisses with a sort of- a deranged abandonment that often leaves Jon with scars on his mouth, but he's enough blood drunk enough that Helen can pulls him away the second he gets too aggressive- and he's grateful. He would be more grateful if she didn't immediately take up the spot and barely let Jon breath, but beggars, choosers. 

“You're carrying me back-” He gasps between the two off them, dizzy in a more medically concerning way now, light headed too. 

“Anything you want, Jon.” She's kisses his cheek, and he's sure it's stained red- all of him must be at this point. The sharp tang of copper is so think in the air it's almost nauseating. 

Almost.

“And no more bets.” 

They both pause for a moment before Michael sets of with a peal of laughter.

“But Archivist,” He's pouting and Jon is refusing to look at him. “You say that every time.” 

“And I'm sure this time he means it.” She's smiling too, he can hear it. 

Maybe their laughter is infectious, some vampire trickery they use to charm people are at parties, because there's no other reason for him to start laughing along with them. 

But he is. 

They're never going to learn at this rate, but maybe he should have thought about that before taking a bet he knew he was going to lose. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always very appreciated
> 
> find me on[ tumblr ](http://iamalivenow.tumblr.com/) and [ twitter](https://twitter.com/licotain)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [veins of rust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031688) by [screechfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/screechfox/pseuds/screechfox)




End file.
